


Accumulated on the Memory

by stareyednight



Series: Settling In, Settling Down [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 02:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7386436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stareyednight/pseuds/stareyednight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>70 years, but it's been a month since it was 1944 and his brain is struggling to catch up and absorb all this new information. Some of it is easy and so much is wonderful, but it's this one thing that seems to cause his brain to get stuck. He can’t move past it and he knows why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accumulated on the Memory

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my beta Jill for the feedback and very helpful corrections.
> 
> The working title for this was Steve is a Sad Panda Who Misses His Bucky.

It's covered in the reintroduction packs SHIELD provides him with, right after women's lib and civil rights: gay rights and marriage equality. That's the one Steve can't really believe, so he reads it over and over, then goes on to the internet and reads everything he can find. He learns so much that it consumes an entire day and when he finally sets his tablet down and gets up off his couch the sun is setting. He takes a glass of water and wanders over to his window to look out over at the city. 

70 years. 70 years, but it's been a month since it was 1944 and his brain is struggling to catch up and absorb all this new information. Some of it is easy and so much is wonderful, but it's this one thing that seems to cause his brain to get stuck. He can’t move past it and he knows why.

It’s not that he didn’t like Peggy - she was beautiful and smart, even better than the ideal girl from back home because she was strong and wilful and tough, too. He might have even been happy married to her, if not for the all-encompassing entity that was his love for James Buchanan Barnes. 

It hadn’t been just the real fear of being arrested that had kept him silent and pining since 1932, but more so the possibility of losing what he’d had with Bucky. He would take every girl Bucky had stepped out with and every double date he’d suffered through if it meant that Bucky would keep slinging an arm around his shoulders and dragging him off to the pictures or the boardwalk, bright-eyed and carefree. Later, when they were older and less carefree, it meant that they could still live together, share meals and laundry and rent and freezing through the winter. And then, later again, it was an easy trade to keep Bucky on his left across half of Europe in exchange for the quiet burn in his heart.

Sometimes when he gets lonely he thinks what it might have been like if they'd grown up here and now and he'd been able to come clean, come out, and just have told Bucky. Could have confessed to the way he felt, how his love for Bucky had lived inside him like a sun since he was fourteen and blotted out everything else around them. And, because it's his daydream, he imagines that Bucky would feel the same. His artist's mind paints a picture and he’ll close his eyes and let it play out because at least in his mind Bucky Barnes looks at him like Steve’s always dreamed he would.

Steve watches a lot of movies and tv to catch up on what feels like everything, and his brain will collect and remember more than just the plots. He lets himself picture a first date on modern terms, a first kiss, a second and third of both. One day in the market he’s struck by the remembrance of how Bucky liked his coffee so dark and strong that the smell of it would linger in their apartment or around a campfire with the Howling Commandos. He thinks that he’d buy that for Bucky, if they were together, and he can’t help himself buying a small bag of the dark roast beans with his own medium roast. He makes himself a cup later and laughs at the taste, leaving it on the counter to make himself a pot of the stuff he likes. The scent lingers, though, and the tug at his heart is almost as fond as it is sad.

He’s made some acquaintances, might even be edging into friends now with Natasha and Clint and Tony. Saving the world does tend to bring people together, he’s found. Tony is loud and brash in ways that set him apart from Howard and even when he’s setting Steve’s teeth on edge, he’s good people. Natasha is still an enigma to him, but she chooses the dark roast and only pokes through his things when he’s out of the room. She brings Clint with her, who is still withdrawn after the Battle of New York in a way that Steve feels close to. They will sit on the couch drinking beers sometimes, watching the sun go down and the skyline light up. Sure, Steve can’t get drunk but he still likes beer and appreciates the companionship it brings even more.

He acclimatises and learns and keeps on adapting. He starts drawing again, beginning to fill a book with what he sees to keep his mind away from what he used to know, but he also has a separate book for sketches of Peggy and Bucky and the Commandos that he turns to when he just can’t keep away anymore. Most of it is Bucky, he doesn’t hide from himself here. Bucky as he used to be before the war, charming and full of life. There are a few of Bucky in his uniform, handsome and proud, with the seriousness around his eyes that Steve saw before he shipped out. And Bucky when they were together again in Europe, strong jaw, handsome and so brave. He draws fragments as they come to him, like Buck asleep with his face sunk into his jacket collar at the camp in France or leaning out over the stands at a Dodgers game.

There are times he still picks things up that Bucky would have liked. He can’t help himself, it almost feels like he’s keeping the memory alive and Bucky’s just around the corner or out at work. It’s probably not healthy, but Steve’s pretty sure he wouldn’t know healthy at this point anyway. If buying a blue sweater in the colour of Bucky’s jacket from the war makes him smile when he puts it on, he’d take that over heart-crushing sadness any day. He remembers the music they used to listen to together on the radio and Natasha helps him find a record player and some records – vintage, she calls it with a sly smile.

 

Steve's in line at a coffee shop downtown when a familiar scent hits him so hard he nearly drops his phone. The scent memory is so sudden and strong that it takes him a moment to parse the scent past 'Bucky' and realise it's the hair cream of the guy in front of him in line.

He breathes through the sudden knot the nostalgia brings on and manages to order his coffee, still smiling automatically at the girl behind the counter. He debates internally for a moment and then taps the guy gently on the shoulder. "Excuse me, I hope it's not rude to ask, but what's the name of the hair stuff you're using?"

The other man smiles at Steve as he turns and doesn't seem bothered by the question. His dark hair is short at the sides and longer on top, and he brushes at it with his fingers as if being asked about it reminds him it's there. "Sure, man, no problem. It's from this shop in Williamsburg, they specialise in vintage fashion and products." He digs a card out of his satchel and jots the shop name on the back before handing it to Steve. "Uh, my number's on the other side, just in case you want to maybe grab a drink or something some time."

Steve's busy reading the shop name and he looks back to the other man, blushing a bit as the offer registers. "Uh, thanks," he manages, but he's saved from figuring out how to reply when their coffees are called one after the other.

"Well, enjoy the pomade," the guy says, saluting with his coffee and Steve nods back.

 

It takes him longer than expected to look the place up because SHIELD calls him in on some small missions over the next few weeks. After he gets back from a quick trip to South America he finds the card with the shop written on it and flips it over to look at the name on the other side. Josh Wilson, who works for an advertising agency in Manhattan and the simple ease with which he'd asked Steve out still staggers him. 

It's been a few months, but still Steve gets an automatic, panicked clench in his chest when he sees two men or two women kissing or holding hands and being so openly together. He wants to warn them, his first reaction to check if anyone else saw and hope that they don't get arrested or hurt. Then his brain reminds him about this brave new world he's living in and the other part of him that is desperately jealous remains to burn hot in his chest. He still isn’t sure if it’s because he never thought he’d get to have that or if he thinks he never will.

He gets to the shop finally and it spins him out a little how familiar it is, from the scents to the clothes to the girl behind the counter. She looks like every girl he knew back home, from her lipstick to her hair to even the way her shape looks – he travelled with a chorus of girls and he knows ladies lingerie, or he used to. When he tells her what he’s looking for, but admits he doesn’t know exactly what it is, she just smiles.

“Easiest thing is to try them, then.” She leads him over to a wooden table with pots and tins all over it and draws out a few. “These are all based on the original recipes, or as close as we can get them. We make these two in house and those three are from other suppliers, but they're just as good.” One by one she opens each tin and lets Steve smell them and describes what they do and how they work. When she finds the right one he smiles, less blindsided but just as nostalgic.

“That one, please.”

“Sure, you want to try some before you grab it?” When he shrugs she chuckles and takes some from the sample tin, working it into his hair. It’s nice to have someone touching him and she automatically parts his hair the way he likes it before pulling back. “There you go, a bit tousled, but still keeping that 40’s vibe. It really suits you.”

He can’t stop the grin. “Thanks. Smells just like it used to, too.”

She’s taking a fresh tin up to the register when she stops and looks at him, eyes narrowed then widening. “Oh my god.” She covers her hand with her mouth and Steve can’t stop the laugh at her shock. “You’re Captain… Oh my god, Captain America is in my store.” She’s flustered and tries to cover it by wrapping up his purchase and putting it in a bag as she blushes up her dark cheekbones.

“It’s a great place you’ve got here,” he says, trying to put her at ease and she beams.

“Thank you! My brother and I own it and it’s just been a passion project, trying to keep everything as authentic as possible.” He pays and she hands him the bag with pride. “Would you mind, could I get a photo with you? If that’s alright?”

Steve is happy to lean in beside her to take the selfie and she’s radiating happiness as she snaps the photo. His hair looks pretty good, too and he tells her so before he leaves.

 

It’s a bit distracting to have the scent all around him as he goes about his day. It reminds him of wearing one of Bucky's shirts when his laundry wasn't dry or when they'd slump on the couch listening to the radio, leaning together because the old couch sagged in the middle. He soaks it in, though, letting the warm feeling he associates with Bucky fill him up every time he breathes for the rest of the day.

He still cooks for two, an even harder habit to break because it was first his Ma and then Bucky, but his body actually needs that much to eat so it all evens out in the end. Steve’s standing at the stove cooking eggs, the music on the record player giving the morning a comfortable vibe that he likes and he remembers doing this a million times before. Not so many eggs back then, but he remembers how Bucky would come up behind him and peek over his shoulder while he cooked, offering commentary and humming along to the radio while Steve would elbow him away from trying to steal out of the pan. 

His fantasy brain takes over and he imagines Bucky at his much taller shoulder, but this time tucking his face into Steve’s neck and his arms around Steve’s waist while he waits for the coffee to brew. The squeeze of want around his heart sends him breathless for a second, but he blinks hard and refocuses on his food, letting the daydream float away again before he burns the eggs.

 

Natasha comes by one morning with pastries and an proposition. SHIELD is offering him a place on the STRIKE team in DC, they want Captain America back out in the field full-time. She watches him when she passes over the folder.

“Are you sure you’re up for this, Rogers? Getting back out into the thick of it?”

He pages through it, seeing that she’s already attached to the team. “Why not? It’s not like I’m doing anything good just sitting here.”

Her gaze is keen as she smirks. “You don’t have to be ‘doing good’ all the time. I’d hate to have to pull your ass out because you had a flashback to 1944 in the middle of Azerbaijan.”

His eyes snap up to meet hers and there’s a dark, probing look in them. “I don’t have flashbacks. Not when I’m awake,” he admits after her eyebrow goes up. “I bet your nightmares don’t stop you from doing your job,” he points out mulishly.

She concedes it with a nod and drinks more of the dark roast he makes for her. He’s pleased that she likes it and that it gives him an excuse to keep buying the beans. They spend the rest of the morning going over the finer points of the team and then details of relocating to DC. She squeezes his arm when she goes, promising to get SHIELD to send through some housing options, leaving lipstick on the coffee mug and the bitter scent of the coffee in the apartment.

SHIELD moves quickly, especially when they’re getting what they want, and Steve manages to choose an apartment from the list they provide. He packs up what he’s managed to accumulate so far and the very efficient logistics team handles moving it into his new place, along with acquiring new furniture and setting up his utilities. All that's left is for him to drive the bike down to DC, leaving New York behind again to serve his country.

 

He gets settled pretty quickly in the new city. He'd visited Washington once on his war bonds tour, but that was two days amid a tour of weeks and a long time ago. Natasha swings by a few times a week and they find him a new coffee place and a market, because he still prefers to buy as much as possible from people he can talk to.

He also discovers some great places for running, even though Natasha straight up refuses to join him. They spar together twice a week at the SHIELD gym instead and Steve relishes the way she doesn't hold back and he doesn't as much as he usually does. He runs by himself, every morning, alternating between the Mall and Rock Creek Park depending on his mood and the weather. No music like some of the other runners, just enjoying the scenery and the exercise.

 

He’s on a rare middle of the day run one weekend and he passes a wedding in the park around the Mall. It's only on his second lap that he notices it's a military wedding. He's smiling as he continues on, but his photographic memory fills in a few more of the details as he gets further along his route and he stops dead on the path when it catches up to him that it was two men getting married. His chest squeezes and he drops his head back to take deep breaths. He hesitates for a moment as his brain churns, but he gives in to the temptation and turns around, jogging back along the path at a slightly slower pace than his usual.

He might not be up to Natasha’s levels of infiltration and espionage, but he’s capable of faking a tight muscle and pauses just in sight, leaning down to stretch out his leg. The ceremony seems to have finished, but people are milling around and the two grooms are standing together, the dress uniform and suit sharp and crisp in the sunshine. The military man leans over and kisses his new husband, short and sweet, and they both beam happily at each other and the people around them.

Steve straightens up and continues running, heading back towards his building even though his chest feels constricted and his throat is tight. He manages to make it back into his apartment before he cracks and he leans against his counter, breathing heavily and trying to get a grip on his feelings. His heart hurts and feels like it’s fracturing, the pressure in his chest making it hard to breathe.

He picks up a bottle of water on the counter before he snaps and throws it at the wall, covering his face and gasping. He realises he's crying from the wetness on his hand and leans his back on the wall, sliding to sit on the floor as he tries to breathe through it.

He’d always hoped that after the war he and Bucky would be able to come home and live some kind of life together, somehow, but only one time had he ever dared think about what it would be like to actually marry him. Just once when he was twenty, sick yet again, and Agnes Miller from down the block was getting married and it was the only thing anyone was talking about. It had all mixed together in a fever dream that’d had him waking up yearning for that kind of love. He'd allowed himself a few minutes to remember the dream and hold it close before he’d locked the thought deep enough down inside himself that it wouldn't spend the rest of his life taunting him with what he’d never get to have.

Now, he's living in a world where it can happen, out in a park with the rest of the world able to see and he’s overwhelmed. He's drowning in the nevers and it's all he can do to take hitching breaths between sobs and ride it out.

Eventually he calms down, face aching as the tears dry up and his breathing evens out. His head hurts from the force of his grief and he has to acknowledge that's what it is as he picks himself up off the floor and heads for the shower. He’s still mourning the loss of his best friend, someone he loved, and any possibility of their future for the first time since 1944. Even then he’d been numbed by the shock and pushing past it into action the best he could, his broken heart buried under duty.

He stands under the hot shower for a long while, losing time in the steam as his mind drifts and wanders without any purpose before he turns it off and steps out. After he gets dressed, he spots the small tin of pomade he’d bought in New York on his dresser. He sometimes opens it and lets the scent remind him of Bucky and if he’s having a bad day he’ll put some in his hair so that he can keep that feeling with him a little longer.

He picks the tin up, weighing it in his hand before squeezing it once and tossing it on his bed. He opens one of his drawers and pulls out his blue sweater and a green Henley he'd bought because it reminded him of Bucky and puts them beside the pomade tin. A knitted burgundy scarf from his closet joins it.

He reaches for the Bucky Bear Nat had given him when they announced the new line of Captain America bears and pauses, then adds it to the pile. He goes to the living room and comes back with a cardboard box, a retro Brooklyn Dodgers cap and a battered paperback of ‘Buck Rogers in the 25th Century’.

He puts everything in the box, still with gentle hands, and realises how much he had accumulated on the memory of a dead man. He closes the top, resting a hand on it and breathes deep. It hurts still, his heart feels raw and shredded but he’s starting to see that maybe he wasn't doing himself any good holding on to Bucky so hard. He might never stop loving Bucky, but if he keeps going on like this it will never get a chance to heal either.

With another deep breath, Steve slides the box onto the top shelf of his closet and hopes it looks innocuous enough to deter Natasha or at least private enough that she won’t bring it up. He wanders out into the kitchen, exhaling and scrubbing at his face as he grabs a beer. He hasn’t even opened it when his phone starts ringing from it’s spot on the counter. He looks at it for a moment and slides to answer.

“Nat?”

“Hey, listen, I know you’ve got your lists and whatever, but I’m pretty sure you haven’t tried Ethiopian yet. Maria recommended this restaurant not far from you, so I’ll be there in half an hour to pick you up. And, if you’re wearing khaki and plaid together remove one or both, or I will come up there and dress you myself.”

Steve barks out a rusty laugh at the idea of Natasha’s disapproving face when he wears what she calls his ‘old man clothes’. “You really know how to sweet talk a fella, don’t you?”

“I’m not kidding, I will put you in the tightest t-shirt you own and take you to ladies night at the nearest bar just to watch the frenzy. Don’t shame me, Rogers.”

“See you in thirty.” They hang up and Steve puts the beer back in the fridge unopened. He heads back into his room to stare into his closet and try to find some middle ground between what Nat thinks is appropriate and what he does. He absolutely chooses a plaid flannel shirt to go over his t-shirt because she’s just thrown a gauntlet down and that can’t be ignored, but picks jeans because he also knows she’ll follow through. 

His eyes stray up to the box on the top shelf, but he closes the closet door before he can dwell on it too much. This is him making an effort and if there’s anything Steve Rogers does well, it's to set himself against impossible odds and throw himself headfirst into solving them. Why should his feelings be any different?

When his phone buzzes with Natasha’s message (“I’m here, do you need me to help with your walker?”) he chuckles and grabs his jacket. Seems like the universe is trying to help him already and if all he can do to honour Bucky’s memory is find someone who teases him just as mercilessly, then he’s off to a better start than he expected.


End file.
